Page 31 of This Laird of Mine

“None at present.” Kirkwood shook his head. “Such a dreadful way to die.”

“Dreadful. Indeed,” Jules said with a frown.

“So, Lord Kildare, what can I do for you in Grayson’s absence?” the aging solicitor asked.

“May we speak plainly, Kirkwood?”

The old man took off his glasses and leaned forward. “Of course.”

“Very well.” Without further pretense, Jules began, “I need to know everything Grayson did recently that relates to me. I need records, financial transactions, meeting notes, everything.”

The solicitor frowned. “Is this in regard to a certain matter, Lord Kildare?”

“My marriage.”

Kirkwood’s eyes widened. “My felicitations, milord, I had no idea.”

“Neither did I.”

Kirkwood blinked. “How can that be? These things take planning, paperwork.”

“Grayson supposedly took care of the details, including selecting my bride,” Jules said with a frown.

Now Kirkwood looked troubled. “That doesn’t seem like something Grayson would do.”

“That’s what I need to find out.”

Kirkwood shuffled through a stack of papers. “I will need a little time to dig deeper into the paperwork, as well as Grayson’s finances, if he’d made any unusual transactions of late, and if he was involved in any scheme. If a trail is there, I’ll find it.” The solicitor frowned. “I must confess, I was beginning to shift most of the day-to-day operations over to Grayson.” Kirkwood glanced at Jules. “He was the closest thing I had to a son. I had become only a shadow around here until a few days ago.”

Jules nodded. “Again, I am very sorry for your loss.”

Kirkwood returned his gaze to the stacks of papers on the desk. “Come back on the morrow and I will have information for you then.”

“My thanks,” Jules said, standing. When the old solicitor continued to dig through the papers, with only a nod of his head, Jules took that as his cue to leave. “I will see you tomorrow at this same time. That should give us both plenty of time to investigate.”

Jules left the office and stepped into the evening air. He let the slight breeze brush over him and clear his senses before he continued down the street toward the parliament buildings and the row of shops just to the south. His fingers strayed to the interior pocket of his waistcoat, and he removed the only precious item he yet possessed with any value. His mother’s ruby ring.

He still had no idea how Grayson had come into possession of the ring. For a moment, he saw his mother walking with him by the loch, holding his hand. The sunlight caught the rubies, causing the red stones to sparkle. He remembered looking at his mother’s hand in his, seeing the fiery stones, and feeling happy.

Shaking off memories of the past, Jules stopped in front of a jeweler’s shop. He felt the weight of the ring in his hand. He did not want to sell the last remaining tie he had to the only person who had ever truly loved him, but he had no other option. The debt collectors would not wait forever, and he would rather die than go back to gaol. Distancing himself from the memories, and from what he was doing, Jules stepped inside and offered up the ring.

The jeweler was impressed with the size and clarity of the three stones. “They are exceptionally fine stones. I will give you thirty shillings Scot.”

“If they are truly fine stones, then you will pay me what they are worth,” Jules replied in response to the jeweler’s offer.

“I cannot,” he replied with a hint of sadness. “My clientele will have a difficult time paying even the price I am paying you. I am sorry. This is my best offer.”

A sort of numbness crept over Jules then, the kind of numbness that would help him do what must be done. With a nod he agreed.

The jeweler’s lips pulled up in a smile as he studied the ring once more. “Since I do not keep this kind of money on hand, you will need to go to the goldsmith with me.”

Forty minutes later, Jules emerged from the goldsmith with a small fortune in coins filling the black satchel he’d removed from his horse. He could pay his creditors, and he could support himself for a while longer, perhaps until the estate started to generate income again.

Perhaps.

He was ready to assume that risk, but he could not knowingly saddle anyone else with the poverty that was inevitably to continue at Kildare Manor for some time. No one deserved that kind of life, especially not a wife.

His wife. He had one last stop to make before the city shut down for the night. He proceeded down High Street toward St. Giles’ Cathedral. Inside the church, he walked down the marble aisle toward the reverend, who lifted stubs of candles from the candelabras, replacing them with fresh tapers.